


Just Talk to Me

by Panicitsamelon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angry Stiles Stilinski, Angst, Bisexual Stiles Stilinski, Declarations Of Love, Demisexual Derek Hale, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek's in college, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eyebrow Chart, Falling In Love, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, I'm really bad at tagging guys, Jealous Derek Hale, Jealousy, M/M, Manhandling, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, POV Stiles Stilinski, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining Derek Hale, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Queen Lydia Martin, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall is a Hale, Sexual Tension, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Stiles Stilinski is the hot girl, UST, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension, at all, because, curse words kids, don't drink and drive kids, just barely mentioned, not in detail, teenagers man, to his economics class
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24122959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panicitsamelon/pseuds/Panicitsamelon
Summary: Stiles definitely didn't have a crush on his best friend's older brother, Derek. Definitely not. He just appreciated Derek's body. Shut up, the man was walking sex and Stiles was a seventeen-year-old boy. He could fantasize about him if he wanted (“But not out loud.” “Shut up, Scotty, it’s your fault for being related to him.”)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 91
Kudos: 651





	1. Excessive Manhandling

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Sterek fic that I've actually written. It's only half garbage, if I do say so myself.
> 
> I'm a mess of a human bean, but I will try to update it mostly regularly. The whole thing is technically written, but I'm hoping to add more to it. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my life blood.
> 
> Please.
> 
> Love me.
> 
> I beg of you.

“Be quiet, Stiles.”

Stiles ignored the request for silence. “Just imagine the possibilities if werewolves existed. If they had advanced senses they’d be able to work in hospitals and literally smell out sickness. Though they wouldn’t be able to smell cancer since it’s made up of your own cells, but stuff like infections? No problem! And don’t even get me started on what they could do in the police force. Criminals would be able to be tracked by scent so easily because the tracker would be an actual detective that—”

Derek’s hand slapped over his mouth. “Shut up, Stiles.”

He heard that phrase a lot. Multiple times every day in fact. It had stopped bothering him a long time ago. Well, most of the time. It depended on who said it. And how they said it. Shut up, he may be a seventeen-year-old boy, but he was sensitive. He wasn’t ashamed of it. So what if he teared up when he watched Ratatouille with his best friend, Scott. Okay, it was a little more than tearing up. He cried and he cried hard. But come on! Remy sitting in the rain all alone! Who wouldn’t cry? (“The majority of the population, Stiles.” “Shut up, Scott.”) So what if he was sensitive. But being told to shut up had become so common he was practically numb to it. 

Stiles’ turned his head fractionally to meet Derek’s eyes. Those fucking eyes. Gods damn. Derek had beautiful eyes. Eyes that changed color each time you saw them. What was it called? Central heterochromia. Hazel, green, brown, gold depending on the light. How were they even fucking real? They reminded him of the forest outside his house, the light filtering through the leaves. 

Shut up, he was allowed to be a sap. Anyone who saw Derek’s eyes would be. They were the best part of him. Except maybe his jawline, or abs, or back muscles. 

No, wait. His eyebrows were the best. They were thick, dark, and a little bushy. They had minds of their own. They spoke when he didn’t, which was good because Derek Hale rarely spoke.

Stiles read his eyebrows now. Ah, position 8, the I’m-annoyed-but-not-to-the-point-of-physical-harm furrow. So, Stiles did what he’d do to anyone else: he licked the hand.

Derek’s eyebrows went up in shock (position 5) and pulled his hand away quickly, wiping it down the arm of Stiles hoodie. “You are a child.”

Stiles tasted salty skin with a hint of something metallic. He made a face. He looked around the room and until his eyes fell on the pull-up bar in the doorway. 

He wasn’t surprised. All Derek seemed to do was work out. Not that Stiles was complaining. Derek had the body of a god. A regular Adonis. Perfectly buff, but not over muscly. He had a body Stiles would very much like to get acquainted with. Explore every inch of... with his tongue. Shut up, the man was walking sex and Stiles was a seventeen-year-old boy. He could fantasize about him if he wanted (“But not out loud.” “Shut up, Scotty, it’s your fault for being his little brother.”) 

However! Just because Stiles wanted to bang him like a screen door in a hurricane, it didn’t mean he liked him. Derek was an asshole. Almost as big an asshole as Stiles himself. He was broody and silent. Derek was always reading, but it was always shit like Nietzsche and Voltaire. He shut the door in peoples’ faces, refused to let anyone ride in his beautiful Camaro, and was rude to everyone. When annoyed enough, he liked to push people against walls and intimidate them with his eyebrows. Stiles definitely hadn’t gone straight home to take care of an extremely hard personal Scotter when that happened the first time. What? So, he had a thing for being manhandled. Sue him.

On the other hand, that was their thing. Stiles would come over and if Scott wasn’t there he’d find Derek wherever he was hiding and pester him until he would get so annoyed he’d stop whatever he was doing and pay attention to Stiles. It was fun. Derek was one of few who didn’t mind that Stiles would jump from topic to topic. Sure, he’d rather Stiles didn’t talk at all, but that wasn’t the point. Sometimes Derek would even share an opinion, usually barbed in an insult, but still, it meant he’d been listening. 

But he was still an asshole. And Stiles definitely didn’t like him. It was a mutual hate/hate relationship. Except when it came to Derek’s body. Stiles thoroughly enjoyed Derek’s body. 

Stiles smirked. “You should wash your hands, they taste gross.”

Derek raised a single eyebrow to position 9 (I-can’t-believe-you’re-a-real-person-  
Stiles), a personal favorite. 

Stiles just shrugged. He was a gift to the world. Not everyone could keep up a conversation between five people entirely on their own. Nor could they go from researching the effects of a market crash on a small economy to end up, hours later, learning about the continued misdiagnosis of endometriosis. He’d written a paper on it once (“This is economics, Stilinski, not health class.” “It’s a prominent issue for women everywhere!” “Shut up, Stilinski.”) 

“So where is your puppy of a little brother anyway?” Scott was very much like an actual puppy. Anyone who saw his big round eyes, floppy hair, and dopey smile would agree.

Derek looked back to the book in his lap, which was in fact, Voltaire. Ha! “He’s at work. Which is why I asked you why you were here and for some reason you answered with a TedTalk about the benefits of werewolves.

Stiles frowned. “I thought Scotty didn’t work Sunday afternoons.”

Derek just shrugged.

Great. Now he was gonna have to write the essay alone. He already didn’t know what he wanted to write about, which was why he came over in the first place. Scott was the one who wanted to take the stupid philosophy course. Stiles didn’t care about what-if’s. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He liked what-if’s, but he preferred to do them on his own time. What was the point of structured what-if? Yeah, you could debate it, but no one was gonna change their mind because there was no physical proof. 

Stiles sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes.

Wait a minute. Derek loved this philosophical shit. On one hand, he doubted Derek would say yes and even asking for help could ruin their carefully crafted dynamic. On the other, Stiles needed to pass philosophy. Preferably with an A.

“Hey, Derek?” Stiles asked.

Derek ignored him. 

Stiles opened his eyes. Derek was leaning with his back against the arm of the couch, knees pulled up with his book resting on his thighs. He made no indication he was listening.

Stiles turned towards him, folding his legs in front of himself. “Derek. I need a favor.”

That got his attention. Derek’s eyebrows shot up into position 13, something-  
unbelievable-just-happened-and-I’m-curious-about-it. He stared at Stiles, shifting his eyebrows into position 3, continue-speaking.

Stiles chewed his bottom lip. “So, you know how Scott forced me into taking that philosophy class? We have our last big essay before finals coming up and we’re supposed to discuss a philosophical idea. The only issue is we weren’t given a list of them so we could literally choose any philosophical idea and google has too damn many and I just don’t know where to start and once I choose one what am I supposed to discuss about it, like there’re no solid facts and-”

“Stiles!”

“Right. Sorry. The point is you’re really into philosophy, considering it’s your major” he said, motioning to the book in his lap, “so I was wondering if you could help me choose a topic and figure out a general outline for my paper.”

Derek looked at him suspiciously, position 10. “You want my help?"

“I literally just said that.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, position 2 really-Stiles? 

Right, he was asking for a favor. “Sorry.”

Derek sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, through the stubble Stiles very much wanted to touch. “Fine.”

“Really?” He was pretty sure he was gaping. 

Derek just glared at him, position 4, hurry-up-before-I-change-my-mind. 

Stiles scrambled to get his books from his backpack.

An hour, and increased frustration on both their parts, later, Stiles collapsed back on the couch with a dramatic sigh, careful to avoid landing on Derek, but close enough it would still annoy him. 

Derek had helped him go through each idea until he picked a topic. Now he was supposed to be starting the outline but his Adderall was wearing off and his mind kept wandering to different articles he’d read while going down a wikihole the night before. 

“Did you know some cats are allergic to humans?” 

Derek ignored him, having gone back to his book while Stiles was supposed to be ruminating the universe. 

“Derek,” he whined. 

Stiles put his notebook on the side table.

“Derrrek.” 

An eyebrow twitched.

“DerBear?”

“What!” Derek snapped, slamming his book into his lap. Were his ears pink? That’s adorable. 

“Did you know some cats are allergic to humans?”

Derek lunged for him. 

Stiles shrieked, rolling off the couch before he could be tackled. He tried to scramble to his feet, but Derek grabbed his ankle and pulled. Stiles hit the floor hard. 

That was definitely gonna hurt later. He bruised like a peach. 

Derek flipped him onto his back and pinned him, glaring menacingly, face somewhere between I’m-gonna-make-you-wish-you-were-dead (position 6) and smug satisfaction (position 11). He was also really close. Like, Stiles could smell the mint of his toothpaste close. 

Stiles stared into his eyes, those fucking eyes, trying very hard not to think about the way Derek’s body was pressed against his. He really didn’t want to pop a very inappropriate, but totally understandable, boner. 

“You win?”

Derek's pupils were blown wide, staring at him in a way Stiles had yet to catalogue, but shot through him like touching a live wire. It was quickly replaced with hatred (1). Derek was on his feet and out of the room before Stiles could open his mouth.

Stiles didn’t move from his spot on the floor.

What. The. Fuck.


	2. What's a Twunk?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles. Stiles is a twunk... maybe. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People have been so sweet in the comments and giving me kudos so I thought I'd update with a short chapter in between all the UST.

“Am I attractive to gay guys?” Stiles asked, staring blankly at the food on his lunch tray.

Danny raised an eyebrow. It was nothing compared to Derek’s. Wow, he really did think about him a lot. Fucking asshole. 

Stiles frowned. “Come on, Danny. You’re my gay Yoda. You taught me the way of the dick.” Scott made a choking sound and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Not like that, dude.” 

Danny had been the first person Stiles went to when he had his big-bisexual-awakening, which a certain broody asshole may or may not have been singularly responsible for. That had been an interesting day at the pool. Stiles would never look at jammers the same way again. 

“Why are you asking?” Lydia asked instead. 

Lydia, his red-haired goddess. He used to think he was in love with her. He was ashamed to admit he had almost gone into the territory of a ‘nice guy’ before Lydia had shut him down with a long speech about not putting people on pedestals. It had been enlightening and he was glad for it. Lydia was now his best friend, next to Scott. He still loved her, of course, but after getting to know her as a human, he realized it was more of a sisterly love.

“No reason in particular. I’m just curious,” he lied easily. 

Lydia raised a perfectly manicured brow. She didn’t buy it. Was there something in the water? Did everyone in Beacon Hills use eyebrows to communicate? Was it too hard to just say what they meant? Stiles certainly had no issue talking. He could talk circles around anyone. He had, in fact. Talking was his go to method to getting out of any unpleasant situation. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles huffed, “I’m asking Danny.” He narrowed his eyes at her then turned back to Danny. 

Danny just shrugged. Real helpful. “I mean, you’re not my type, but you do kind of have the whole twunk vibe. Though it’d help if you wore tighter clothes.”

“Tighter clothes...” Stiles looked down at his loose jeans, graphic tee, and flannel. He liked the way he dressed. It was comfortable. But a few new shirts and jeans that fit him properly couldn’t hurt.

“Why do you want to be attractive to men?” Scott asked. 

Stiles and Danny looked at each other and then back to Scott. 

“You know what I mean. You don’t usually care what other people think of you.”

Stiles shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe I’m just tired of being alone. It’s not like I’m trying to find someone to sex me up,” Danny and Scott groaned, “but it’d be nice to at least have made out someone before I turn eighteen.”

Or maybe it was because he couldn’t figure out what Derek’s look had meant but it had almost seemed like he might’ve been attracted to Stiles, but then Derek ran away so maybe not? Probably not. Cause someone like Derek would never be interested in someone like Stiles. 

And now Stiles was sad. Great.

He sighed into his sandwich. He was a mess.

And he still needed Derek’s help with his philosophy paper.


	3. Position 14: The Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes back to finish his paper and somehow ends up getting acquainted with a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up with all these short chapters, Pim? Well, my dudes. This was a short story I turned in for my fiction workshop and there was a page limit. Also, yes, I wrote fanfiction for a class I was taking to earn my MFA. I AM A TINY GOD.

“So,” Stiles said, shoving the door to Derek’s room open, “I wrote out all my ideas last night and I think I have an idea for an outline but I wanted—” his breath rushed out as he was slammed against the wall. 

Derek pinned him with an arm across his chest. 

What the heck? Had Derek been jacking off or something? Stiles peered around to look at the bed. The blankets were a mess, but there was no laptop playing the fake moan symphony, just an open textbook book laying haphazardly halfway off the mattress. Derek grabbed his jaw, bringing his focus back and keeping him from moving his head. 

Damn, Derek had strong fingers. Really long, thick fingers. Damn it. No. Stiles wasn’t going to get an awkward boner already. 

Stiles dragged his gaze from the fingers to Derek’s face. It was a lot closer than he originally thought. Only a few inches away. Stiles licked his lips.

Derek’s eyes snapped to his. Had he been looking at Stiles’ mouth?

Fuck. He had The Look again too, pupils dilated to the point Stiles could only see a sliver of his multicolored iris. 

Stiles dropped his gaze to Derek’s perfect mouth breathing hot against his skin. 

There was no way Stiles was entertaining the thought of it, definitely not during Stiles Time, trailing biting kisses from his neck up his jaw until finally ending in a searing- STOP Stiles, ABORT ABORT. 

The mouth was moving now. 

“Wha?”

Derek had lost The Look and was glaring, eyebrows at position 7 (I-will-lose-my-shit-if-you-don’t-stop-what-you’re-doing-right-now). “Why are you here?”

Stiles swallowed thickly. “Why am I…? Do you think you could let me go? It’s kinda hard to think when you’re so close.”

Derek looked down, almost reluctantly, to the hand he had wrapped around Stiles’ jaw. His eyes went wide and he yanked himself back, almost tripping in his need to get away. He looked disgusted. 

Position 12, Stiles’ brain supplied unnecessarily.

And that hurt. Just a bit. Stiles knew he wasn't exceptionally attractive, but he didn’t think he was repulsive enough to cause that kind of reaction. Derek looked like he’d just realized he’d been all up on Gollum. Stiles definitely didn’t look like Gollum. He was definitely cuter, at the very least. 

He had already lost most of the baby fat around his face and he’d finally let his hair grow out past the buzzcut he’d had since second grade which, according to Danny, made him look almost hot. So, yeah, Stiles may be pretty average, but he didn’t think he deserved that look of pure disgust. 

Fucking asshole.

Stiles rubbed his jaw and pushed down the hurt he refused to feel. “Right. Well, I’m going to go home to finish my report. Thanks for your help yesterday.” He grabbed his back, that had fallen during the original manhandling and then walked out of the room completely dignified. Okay, he may have fled. Like he was running for his life. And he may have tripped down the front steps, but he was pretty sure no one saw that. As soon as he got in his jeep his eyes started to feel hot. No, no, no. He wasn’t going to cry. Not over this. Not over Derek fucking Hale. 

Stiles quickly started the car and pulled out into the road. It wasn’t like he even liked Derek. Derek was an asshole. Especially to him. Always ignoring him, pushing him into walls, telling him to shut up. He definitely didn’t care what Derek thought about him. 

Stiles felt tears gathering as he barreled down the backroad that led towards home. He took a deep breath and tried to will them away, but when the first one rolled down his cheek, he cursed and pulled over to the side. 

He couldn’t help but be glad most people didn’t take this road as he let go and broke down.


	4. The Great Depression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have a guilt complex, I will be posting two short chapters in a row.  
> Also because I'm impatient.  
> So impatient.

“You look like shit,” Scott said, leaning against Stiles’ locker. 

Stiles shoved him off it and got his books out.. He knew he looked bad. He was exhausted from crying all his stupid feelings out yesterday. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with why Derek was so pissy last night?”

Stiles' tripped over nothing. “Why was he mad?”

“I don’t know. He drove back to campus before I could ask him.” Scott steadied him.

Stiles didn’t know what to think. He’d thought Derek’s disgust had just been from being so close to him, but what if it was more than that? What if Derek knew about Stiles little hate-crush? Did Derek think it was that revolting for someone like Stiles to find him attractive? It wasn’t Stiles’ fault he had a big ol’ hate boner for the guy! Derek was stupidly attractive. Like, walking sex attractive! Hell, even straight men found him attractive. There was a poll in Derek’s senior yearbook about it! (“Why are you looking through my yearbook?” “I’m trying to find a picture of you smiling. Scott said you did, but I demand proof!”)

But this wasn’t about everyone. This was about Stiles. Stiles, the annoying kid who would always find his way to Derek’s room when Scott was sleeping in or taking too long in the bathroom. The kid that poked and prodded until he got a reaction. The kid that never shut up whenever he found Derek alone. Who forced him, when Scott wasn’t home, to keep Stiles company, watch movies, or even just read together in semi quiet; because Stiles was never truly quiet. In fact, Stiles had been going over more and more often even when he knew Scott wouldn’t be there. Why would he do that? 

Sure, Stiles didn’t truly hate Derek. He was grumpy, broody, and an asshole, but he had his good sides. He was stupidly smart, knew more about history and philosophy than anyone else Stiles knew. He could even be considered funny in a sarcastic deadpan way.

Sometimes Derek was even nice. He’d recorded the new episode of Walking Dead when it was going to air during one of Stiles’ lacrosse games. He even watched it with him. When Stiles was having a shitty day, Derek would let him choose a movie to watch until Scott got home. Once, when his dad was working a dangerous case, and Scott was at work, Derek distracted him with a debate on feminism in the DC universe (“Halle Berry’s totally hypersexualized in Catwoman, Derek!” “But it did pass the Bechdel test.” “Stop making good arguments!”). 

Stiles was also pretty sure Derek made him cookies once and pretended his mom had. But Stiles knew Ms. Hale sucked at baking and those triple chocolate chunk cookies were heaven in his mouth. 

So yeah, Derek had some good sides and, maybe, sometimes Stiles found himself wanting to go over and discuss the latest petty argument he’d discovered between two old sovereigns he’d read about on wikipedia. And maybe, sometimes he went over a little before he knew Scott’d be home so he could bug Derek a bit. And, okay, sometimes his fantasies weren’t entirely sexual. He had once caught himself feeling warm and fuzzy just thinking about holding Derek's hand with their fingers laced together. And when Derek actually laughed— 

“Oh my god I’m in love with Derek Hale!” Stiles cried out, slamming his hands on the desk in front of him.

Someone cleared their throat and Stiles blinked, looking around. He was standing at his desk in the middle of Economics. 

The class was staring at him, including Scott who was sitting next to him with an expression of great horror. When had they gotten to class? Had he really not noticed walking all the way across the school? He had been a little lost in thought. Could anyone really blame him?

Coach cleared his throat again, drawing Stiles’ attention back to the front of the room. “While I’m overjoyed for you, Stilinski, we’re in the middle of class. Sit down!”

Stiles nodded slowly, not really listening, and lowered himself to his seat. Coach went back to giving his weird, not entirely accurate, lecture on the great depression. 

Shit. Shit. He was in love with Derek Hale. Something warm was spreading through his stomach until it quickly turned to ice. He was in love with Derek Hale. Derek Hale who always complained about Stiles’ presence and told him to shut up. Derek, who shoved him into walls when he was annoyed. Derek, who, on multiple occasions, had told him he wished he’d leave and never come back. 

Derek Hale who was disgusted by the thought of Stiles being attracted to him.


	5. Ten Things I Hate About Derek Hale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lydia is Queen and Stiles is The Hot Girl™

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second short chapter of the day. I hope you enjoy. Next one's gonna be a doozy.

Stiles spent the rest of the week  ~~ moping ~~ (“I’m not moping!” “Dude, this is the third time you've watched Ten Things I Hate About You today.” “Shut up, Scott.”) in bed as soon as he got home from school. And he wasn’t. He wasn’t moping. He was just (“Pining?” “Seriously. Shut up, Scott”) trying to figure out what to do next. 

The thought of Derek still made his chest feel tight. But what could he do? Derek had made his opinion of Stiles pretty clear. So Stiles just went through the motions and avoided going to the Hale House, just in case.

Scott was being great too. He came over after school every day he didn’t have work. He let him rant with only minimal complaints about Derek being his brother when Stiles ‘accidentally’ started talking about his fucking perfect body.

But Stiles... Stiles was lost. He never realized how much Derek was part of his life until he wasn’t anymore. And it hurt. It hurt more than it should’ve. He’d tried to tell himself it was really just a crush. That there was no way he was in love. He was seventeen years old for god's sake. But, after two weeks of feeling depressed and alone, despite being surrounded by friends, he knew he was kidding himself. He was truly in love with Derek Fucking Hale and it hurt so bad. 

After another week his friends had had enough. “Get up, loser,” Lydia said, bursting into his room Friday evening. 

Stiles groaned and buried himself further into his blanket burrito. 

She apparently didn’t care about his pain and closed the laptop just as Julia Stiles started crying while she read the poem. “I’m done with your self-pity party.” 

Stiles yelped when a fancy paper bag hit him on the head. He unraveled himself and glared at her. He was ignored.

Lydia was wearing a tight black dress that clung to her in a very attractive way and heels taller than he thought people would be able to walk in. Never doubt Lydia Martin.

Stiles squinted his eyes suspiciously before peering inside the bag. There was a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. Everything looked a size too small. “What’s this?” He asked, his voice squeaking when he found a pair of short red boxer briefs. 

“It’s what you’re wearing when we go to The Jungle tonight.” 

The Jungle was one of the few clubs in town and cater specifically to the queer community. Stiles had never been though, since, y’know, he was seventeen. And his dad was the Sheriff. And getting someone to sell a sheriff’s son a fake ID was impossible. “How?” 

Lydia rolled her eyes and instead of answering, pulled Stiles out of bed, the bag still clutched in his hand. She shoved him out into the bathroom. “It’s time you got over this. Moping doesn’t become you.”

Stiles squawked indignantly. “I’m not moping!”

Lydia leveled him with a perfect raised brow. 

Stiles ignored the tiny burst of sadness the expression gave him. Okay. Maybe he was moping. Fucking eyebrows. “Fine.” He bit out, dropping the bag on the floor.

She gave him a gloating smile. “Now take a shower. You smell.” 

Stiles closed the bathroom door and pouted. He knew she was right. It’d been too long since he’d actually gone out with his friends. And what was the point of being hung up on a guy he knew he could never have? He’d go to The Jungle and dance until he couldn’t feel his legs. Hell, maybe he’d even find a guy to make out with. His heart twinged at the thought but he ignored it in favor of getting in the shower. 

Once he deemed himself clean enough, he dried off and then stared at the clothes in the bag. He couldn’t believe Lydia had even gotten him underwear. That was a lie. He could definitely see it. If he’d worn his own there would be bunching from the tightness of the pants (“It’s 2020. Underwear lines are not an option, Stiles.”)

Stiles sighed and dressed quickly.

The pants made his ass look great, hugging in all the right places. And had he always had these muscles? Coach had been pushing them harder in practice. His chest and shoulders looked broad and stomach flat, but toned. Maybe Danny had been right. Tight clothes did make him hot. He wouldn’t wear them all the time, but maybe he would end up getting a few new outfits.

Lydia smiled brightly, when he came into the room, and got up from where she’d been texting on his bed. She futzed with his hair a moment and then stepped back, eyes sweeping over his body to check her work. 

“Do I pass?” Stiles asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. He was a little worried, though he’d never admit it. 

“I suppose,” she said airily, but he saw the sparkle in her eye. He mentally fist pumped. He was hot!

“All right then. Lead the way.” Stiles smiled as they left the house. 


	6. Is It Hot In Here or Is It Just Derek Hale?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles get to enjoy grinding on strangers until he doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments <3 They mean the world to me. I only have two more chapters written but I'm thinking about altering the last one. I'll let you know.

When they arrived Lydia headed straight for the door. Stiles just tried to keep up. How a five foot three woman in heels could walk that fast, he would never know. Lydia skipped the line, smiled at the bouncer, and dragged Stiles inside and to the bar.

The music was so loud he could feel the bass in his bones. Bright colored lights danced across the room illuminating the writhing bodies in the dark. 

They’d been there less than a minute when the bartender placed two shots on the counter in front of her, motioning to some guy that was leering from the corner. Lydia ignored him but took one and handed the other to Stiles. 

Stiles raised his shot glass to hers. “To forgetting assholes and grinding on strangers.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes but clinked her glass to his anyway.

Stiles downed the shot, only wrinkling his nose for a second. 

Lydia laughed before kissing his cheek. “Okay. I’m DD, so any other ‘gifts’ are for you.”

Three shots later, thankfully not of the same liquor, Stiles was pleasantly buzzed. A new song came on and Lydia grabbed Stiles’ wrist, dragging him to the dance floor. She didn’t stop until they were somewhere in the middle.

Lydia pulled him close, hands on his hips, moving to the rhythm of the music. 

Stiles let himself go, let the warmth of alcohol buzz underneath his skin. It was nice. A relief to not have to think about anything. To just let his body move to the sounds filling his mind. The heat of someone else’s hands on his skin. 

Stiles lost track of time. There was just the music, lights, heat, and buzzing bodies. 

Eventually a guy came up behind him and they danced, hips moving in sync. Stiles wrapped his arm around the back of the guy’s neck, holding him tightly against his body.

Stiles tilted his neck to the side in invitation. When lips touched his skin, a pleasant shiver ran through his body. The guy pressed open mouth kisses to his neck. There was a little too much spit, but it still felt good. When he sucked hard, pulling Stiles skin into his mouth Stiles let out a gasp and half moan. 

Stiles was about to turn to finally kiss the guy when he was yanked roughly away and pulled against something warm and wide. 

Stiles looked up to yell at his assailant and his stomach dropped.

Derek Hale was holding him. 

He was pressed up against Derek Hale’s chest. 

Derek Hale had pulled him out of the arms of another man. 

Derek Hale was here.

Why was Derek here?

Apparently he had missed most of a shouting match between his dance partner, but he did hear Derek shout, “he’s a kid!”

Stiles bristled.

He looked to Lydia for help, but she’d somehow disappeared into the crowd. Before Stiles could open his mouth, he was being dragged through the mass of bodies and out the door. The cool air hit him like a shock. It was frigid compared to the heat of the club. He shivered as his pleasant buzz slipped away. 

Derek had managed to drag him to the back of the parking lot before Stiles came back to himself. He immediately dug his feet in and wrenched his arm from Derek’s grasp. 

Derek looked shocked. Like he’d forgotten he’d been dragging Stiles along with him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Derek blinked slowly for a moment before getting angry. “I’m taking a drunk minor out of a club he entered illegally.”

“Like I was the only minor there. What about Lydia?”

“That’s not the point.”

Stiles laughed darkly. “Then please, tell me the point. Why didn’t you manhandle her out here too?”

Derek glared. His eyebrows were- no fuck those eyebrows and the stupid language he learned to read for this stupid confusing asshole. “She’s not you.” 

“What the fuck do you mean she’s not me?” 

Derek was clenching his fists, knuckles turning white. His silence only pissed Stiles off more. 

Stiles stalked forward, getting in Derek’s face. “For once in your fucking life use your damn words! How is she different from me?”

“She knows what she’s doing! You don’t. You’re a naive child,” Derek shouted, “You just got drunk and threw yourself at the first person that showed you the smallest amount of attention.” 

Stiles recoiled as if he’d been slapped, stumbling back. The fury vanished; leaving him cold and hollow. 

Was that really what Derek thought of him? 

Derek stopped, eyes wide. “Stiles. I didn’t mean-” He reached out and Stiles flinched back staring at the ground. He didn’t want to see Derek’s disgust for a second time.

Stiles cleared his throat, wrapping his arms around himself. He was surprised he hadn’t started crying. Instead he just felt dead inside. He pulled his cell phone out. “I’m gonna call Lydia to take me home.” 

“Stiles-”

“Don’t,” he begged, still not looking up, “Please don’t.” He left before Derek could say anything else. 

Stiles dialed Lydia’s number as he weaved through cars towards where they parked. It took longer than normal because his hands were shaking so badly. 

They picked up on the second ring. “Stiles? Where the hell did you go? Stiles Stilinski if you left with someone without telling me I’m going to-”

“Lyds? I’m by the car. Can you take me home, please?” He hated how his voice cracked. “Please?

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” she promised and ended the call.

In the distance, Stiles could hear the familiar sound of the Camaro peeling out of the lot.

Stiles sank to the ground.


	7. The Medical Advancements Made by Werewolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crying on your best friend's shoulder helps. So does pizza... and werewolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again with the super short one. In the very first draft of this I ended it here. I don't plan on doing that now because it would be a huge disappointment. I have one written chapter left that I have written. Either I'll end it there, or extend the whole thing. I also have the very bad Derek POV to work on. So we'll see what happens. Depression is a bitch. Who knows where the antidepressants will blow.

When Stiles woke up the next morning, Scott was lying next to him, watching netflix with subtitles. Lydia must have texted him. Scott paused the show when he noticed Stiles was awake.  
“I’m sorry, man.”  
Stiles was surprised he didn’t feel the panic or crushing heartbreak from earlier, just a sense of resigned sadness. Maybe he’d cried it all out the night before.  
Stiles smiled weakly. “You have no control over your brother or his feelings.”  
Scott wrapped his arms around him. “It still sucks. So, I’m sorry it happened.”  
Stiles ran his hands through Scott’s shaggy hair. “Yeah.”  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
“Maybe. It’s-” he took a breath and started again. “It’s not that I’m upset he doesn’t like me.”  
Scott tilted his head up letting Stiles know he was listening.  
“I mean, yeah, that part sucks, but it wasn’t a surprise. I knew I annoyed him. It was our thing!” Stiles fingers paused in Scott’s hair, “But having Derek drag me away when I was finally starting to enjoy myself. When I finally stopped thinking about how he would never love me back. And then have him yelling at me. Basically saying I was a childish attention whore.”  
Scott scowled.  
“I just feel so stupid because for a few stupid seconds I let myself think that Derek pulled away from that guy because he was jealous. I just—” Stiles blinked back tears. “I didn’t think he hated—” he choked on a sob. “—I thought he might—” Stiles broke down.  
Scott sat up, rearranging them so Stiles’ head was resting against his chest and murmured apologies and reassurances into his hair.  
Some time later, Stiles ran out of tears and pulled himself out of Scott’s arms. “Thanks, man, for listening.”  
“Of course, dude.” Scott said, puppy eyes round with sincerity. “You’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.”  
Stiles punched his arm affectionately.  
“It’s time to eat.” Lydia said, swinging Stiles’ door open, a pizza box in one hand.  
“When did you get here?” Stiles asked, crawling out from underneath the blankets.  
“While you two were bonding. Now go wash your face. Your eyes’ll get puffy if you don’t.”  
Stiles sighed and got up, kissing Lydia’s temple. “You are a goddess.”  
“I know,” she said, shoving him towards the door.  
Stiles laughed his way to the bathroom and washed his face. After drying off he examined his reflection. His eyes were red and puffy and his skin was mottled and splotchy. When he saw the purpling hickey on his neck, he winced.  
Stiles took a few calming breaths and went back to the room where Scott and Lydia sat on his bed, pizza in hand. He grabbed a slice of his own and pressed play on his laptop.  
His friends curled into his side as he settled between them. Stiles smiled as the Teen Wolf opening song played. “Have I ever told you how much werewolves could advance medical treatment?”  
“Shut up, Stiles.”


	8. Ready to Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The resolution. Thank you for being so patient with me. Sorry if it's disappointing. Maybe someday I'll right another part, but for now, tis finished. I hope you enjoy.  
> TW: mentions of past sexual assault

A few hours later Stiles' friends were gone, leaving him with hugs and an empty pizza box. Stiles sighed and took the box outside to the recycling bin. He hated feeling like this. It hurt to think about how wrong he’d been about Derek. 

Sure, they usually traded insults, but neither of them had ever been cruel. And that was it. What Derek said had been cruel and Stiles hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Stiles?”

Stiles jumped, dropping the lid of the recycling bin loudly.

Oh no. 

No, no, no, no, no.

Stiles turned slowly. 

Derek was standing just a few feet away. Stiles hated himself for noticing how Derek looked, standing there in a soft looking sweater, no leather jacket to be seen, his hair and stubble unkempt. There were dark bags under his eyes. 

When Stiles didn’t speak, he honestly didn’t think he could, Derek ran a hand through his messy hair. “Can we talk?”

Stiles nodded, but made no move to go inside. He needed a place to escape to if he started to break down again. He could already feel the tears welling up.

“I’m sorry,” Derek started. “I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I didn’t mean it. Not a single word, I swear. You’re not any of those things. You’re smart and clever and you’d never make a mistake like I—” He stopped, letting out a frustrated noise. 

“I shouldn’t have pulled you away from that ass— that guy. No matter how old he looked. It was your choice to be with him.” His eyes flickered to Stiles’ neck.

Stiles stopped himself from reaching to cover the mark. 

Derek looked away quickly. “I was scared and I was jealous,” 

Stiles closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks, 

“but that’s no excuse. You’re not my— I don’t— fuck.” 

It was quiet. Then Stiles felt skin against his cheek. He snapped his eyes open. Derek was only a few inches away, eyes searching. 

Stiles took in a shuddery breath. Heat radiated from Derek’s body. He wanted to wrap himself in it.

“I like you,” Derek whispered.

Stiles almost choked on his spit. Almost. “What?” 

Derek’s eyes went wide and he tried to step away but Stiles grabbed his wrist.

“You like me? Like, like-like or like, little brother’s annoying best friend that grows on you like fungus, like? Because there’s a difference and I kind of need to know it because last night kind of broke me,” Shut up, shut up. Gods, why was he still talking? “Because I really like you like, a whole lot, probably more than I should considering you’re an asshole.” 

Derek winced. 

“But I am too, so it’s not that much of a surprise. But still! I mean I didn’t even realize it until the day after you pinned me to the wall, which by the way, really, really hot. And literally the second after I realized I lov— like you I remembered how disgusted you looked when you realized how close—” 

“I wasn’t disgusted with you,” Derek interrupted.

“What?”

“I was disgusted with myself for wanting you.”

Stiles shrunk back.

“No, no, not like that. Fuck. I’m bad with words.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Derek glared. It was a sort of fond exasperation, now position 15. He moved Stiles grip from his wrist to his hand, intertwining their fingers. He took a deep breath. “I was raped when I was fifteen. She was twenty seven.” 

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand tightly. 

“When I realized how much I liked you, even though you’re only seventeen, I was disgusted with myself. I’m sorry. I needed you to hate me. If you hated me then I wouldn’t be able to get close. I wanted you, but I couldn’t— I’m so sorry.”

Stiles wrapped him in a hug and Derek sunk into it, fisting his hands in the back of Stiles’ shirt. “It’s okay. I understand. You’re okay. We’re okay.” 

Stiles held him until their breathing had synced and hearts were beating in a steady rhythm.  
Derek cleared his throat and leaned back, but didn’t let go. “We have a lot to talk about.”

“We do.”

“You’re still seventeen.”

“Eighteen in three months.” 

Derek raised his eyebrows into position 2. 

“I’m not saying anything has to or will happen before or even after I turn eighteen,” Stiles reassured. “I am saying that I will wait because I want to be with you and I hope that you want that too.”

Derek sighed, cupping his cheek. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Stiles gently took Derek’s hand in his own, and brought it to his lips for the lightest of kisses. “I’m ready to listen.” 

Derek’s smile was breathtaking.

**Author's Note:**

> The Eyebrow Chart
> 
> 1: hatred 2: really Stiles? 3: continue speaking 4: hurry up before I change my mind 5: shock 6: I’m gonna make you wish you were dead 7: I will lose my shit if you don’t stop what you’re doing right now 8: I’m annoyed but not to the point of physical harm 9: I can’t believe you’re a real person, Stiles 10: suspicion 11: smug satisfaction 12: pure disgust 13: something unbelievable happened and I’m curious about it 14: The Look 15: fond exasperation
> 
> Comments and kudos are my life blood.
> 
> LOVE ME


End file.
